Slave of Duty
by theMarvelousTolkienJob
Summary: Mixing school, hunting, and family has always been a challenge for Sam. Throw in an angry ghost and a concussion and it only becomes all that more complicated. Teen!Chester Limp!Sam Protective!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey! I'm new (er, new to posting. I have become a master at procrastination while reading fanfics) to this fandom and wanted to try my hand at writing for it. **

**Sam is 16. **

**Dean is 20.**

**Disclaimer: not mine. **

Slave of Duty

"This is stupid," Sam grumbled, shifting in his seat and pressing his forehead against the cold window. Blurry trees flickered past the speeding Impala, their large shapes mere shadows in the dark night.

"Everything is stupid to you, princess." Dean grinned, tapping along to the blaring AC/DC.

Sam scowled at his own reflection, gnawing at his lower lips as he watched the scenery flicker past. "Seriously," he finally spat, "This is really stupid." His fingers curled up around the worn and dog-eared paperback that was clutched tightly in his lap. A finger marked his place as if at any moment, he would be flipping it open and picking up where he had left off. "Why did we have to come _tonight_? This could have waited until next weekend…"

"Sam," Dean half-turned, a familiar growl of warning in his voice. "Give it a freaking break. Dad had his reason for sending us out here and you should be grateful that Dad let us wait _until_ the weekend. This ghost isn't exactly having picnics with people. Besides," The smile was back as he threw out a hand, slapping Sam's chest roughly. "If you stop thinking about school, you might realize that this is actually going to be fun."

"What, waving a gun around while digging up a grave just to burn the body is 'fun'?" Sam snapped back.

"As I said, fun," Dean didn't have to look over at Sam to know that he was on the receiving end of a lethal glare.

"No," Sam sat up straighter and brandishing his book. "What is fun is sitting down and doing my biology homework, maybe some calculus on the side. And if I get really risky, I might actually find the freaking time to read my freaking book!"

"Dude, could you be more of a geek? It's no wonder that girls don't try and kiss you." Dean shook his head in exasperation, easing the car off the interstate and towards the exit. "Reading a book for fun...how are we even related?"

Sam huffed, slouching back into his seat and returning his gaze out the window. The illuminated numbers on the clock flipped over from 12:56 to 12:57 and Sam could not help but think of the four-hour trip back to Salina, their current home.

Dean pressed his foot against the brake, slowing down just long enough to swing the car to the left before speeding up again. In the distance, the indistinct shapes of what would become headstones appeared as Oakland Cemetery came into view. Sam scooted further down in his seat, giving the outside world a dark look.

A few minutes later, Dean was putting the Impala into park, his excitement palpable.

"You ready, geek boy?" Dean was not fazed by the murderous look on his younger sibling's face and he grinned openly at him. With a yank, Sam zipped his jacket up before jerking the door open and tossing his book down onto his vacant seat. "Alrighty then, Grumpy."

Following Sam to the back of the car, Dean threw open the trunk, lifted the false bottom and made a snatch for the shiny, new, shotgun that Dad had acquired only a few weeks ago. Sam's fingers scraped against the back of his hand and the frustrated huff made him laugh.

"Gotta be faster than that if you want to win the reward," Dean said lightly, tucking the gun safely under his arm as he reached for the salt.

"Let's just get this over with," Sam grumbled as he settled for the old and worn gun and began to jam handfuls of salt rounds into his pocket.

Dean turned to him, extending a shovel. "Why, so you can go back to reading that sissy book?"

"Yeah, maybe," Sam defended, slamming the trunk lid down. Dean barely had time to snatch his fingers away and he swore loudly.

"Dude, what is your problem?" Swinging his gun up to rest against his shoulder, he wheeled on Sam, sticking a finger in his face. "I know that things haven't exactly been easy on you. Dad's had a stick up his ass and you keep pushing yourself to get ridiculous grades at school—why, I don't even want to know—but I'm not the enemy here, man. Hell, I even did the research for this hunt so that you could finish those stupid math problems that were giving _me_ a headache just by looking at them."

Sam looked away, shifting the gun restlessly in between his hands as he looked remorsefully at the ground. He didn't say anything and Dean rolled his eyes, extending Sam's shovel. "Here, your turn to man the shovel."

Without a word, Sam meekly shouldered the shovel and turned towards the cemetery. "We're looking for Alyssa Barnett, right?"

Dean watched him carefully, hoisting his own shovel up. "Yeah, row 30 plot E." Flicking their flashlights on, they began to walk across the unkempt grass.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to have a wealthy person to bite the dust for a change. Why do we always end up in the crap graveyards?" Dean asked as he picked his way across half a headstone.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably because the wealthy have the best security money can buy and, therefore, don't die violent deaths near as much. Or, if they do, then people actually look into their murders thus no avenging spirits."

They located Alyssa Barnett's grave near the middle of the cemetery next to a large granite memorial. It was crumbling with age and most of the names were unreadable. Sam lingered for a moment, his flashlight trained on the faded words.

"Some sort of skirmish took place here in…1769? Nevermind, it could be1761," he informed Dean as his brother came to a stop next to Alyssa's grave. The engraved angles on her tombstone had vanished into the overgrown weeds and the B was split in half by large crack.

"Fascinating," Dean said flatly without looking up as he tossed the weapon bag down. "Now, get your ass over here before I end up doing all the work."

Sam stayed a moment longer before hurrying over and dropping his shotgun next to Dean's. Digging his shovel into frozen dirt, he glanced over at his brother. "If we dig fast, we might be out of here before it hits two." If he slept in the car on the way home, then he could get a head start on Mrs. Denton's paper as soon as they got home…

Dean shrugged, digging his own shovel into the hard ground. "It's possible," he agreed, his eyes already glazing over as his mind wandered. Digging was not Dean's favorite part of hunting. Sam couldn't help agreeing as he tossed another heap of dirt off to the side and let his own mind turn inwards.

_Prokaryotic cells do not have organelles, rather a plasma membrane, nucleoid, and cell walls. Their DNA is linear rather than coiled about the histones. _

He paused before flipping the shovel up. _Did Prokaryotic cells have histones_? He mentally added it to his list of things recheck tomorrow. His stomach dropped along with his next shovel full of dirt. His biology grade was hovering between an A- and a B+ and he couldn't afford anything but 95% on the upcoming test. After all, B's didn't get scholarships…

He didn't let himself dwell on that thought and refocused on the facts.

_Eukaryotic cells, on the other hand, has a nucleus instead (as well as the plasma membrane) plus fixed organelles…They are more complicated and require meiosis for reproduction. _

Sam had just started listing the functions of the Lysosomes when he was jerked out of his thoughts as Dean levered himself up and out of the hole.

"Don't you stop digging," Dean called over his shoulder. Scooping up his shotgun, he grinned down at Sam as he pumped it gleefully. "I got ghost duty."

Repositioning himself, Sam rolled his eyes went back to work.

Dean began to pace, his eyes sweeping the graveyard for Barnett's ghost. The tips of his ears were just starting to freeze when the dull thud of metal hitting wood resounded throughout the cemetery.

"I've got it!" Sam called over his shoulder as he hurriedly began to scrape aside all the remaining clumps of dirt. Dean's footsteps stopped and Sam could imagine Dean hefting the gun up to eye level, scanning for the spirit that was bound to show up sooner rather than later. Clearing the remaining dirt clods off of the wooden coffin, Sam attacked the thick lock with the blunt end of his shovel. It snapped off and Sam flung the lid back. He pulled back slightly, the smell of must and decay hitting him hard.

The flashlight that Dean was pointing into the grave flickered.

"Oh, he—" Dean didn't have a chance to finish his sentence as a young woman flickered into view just behind the headstone. Dark grey matter was splattered across her face from where her head had been caved in, a parting gift from her husband. Apparently, the need to beat anyone weaker than her was also a part of that gift. Dean steadied the gun, a lazy smile on his face.

"Bring it, bitch."

She raised her hand, forming a tight fist, but Dean's finger against the trigger was quicker and she disappeared into a cloud of swirling grey dust.

"Sam? You almost done?"

"Working on it!" Sam grunted, using his long legs to straddle the coffin. "Salt!" Dean tossed him the canister and Sam began to spread liberal amounts of the small crystals across her bones.

"It doesn't have to be perfectly symmetrical, man, just…" Dean's voice trailed off and Sam jerked his head up just in time to watch as the spirit flickered back into view next to his brother. Dean's gun went off again but it was a moment too late as with the flip of her wrist, she sent him flying through the air. The salt round passed harmlessly just over her shoulder, embedding itself with a crack into a headstone.

"Dean!" Bracing his hands on the edge of the hole that he had dug, Sam yanked himself up and out. His own sawed-off was resting within easy reach and he braced it against his shoulder, a finger on the trigger. He could not see his brother in the dark and the lack of foul curses was making his heart work double. "DEAN!"

The spirit of Alyssa flashed into view and Sam fired. She phased out and Sam's breath caught in his chest. His eyes scoured the graveyard. All he could hear was the painful pounding of his own heart.

"Dean?" Edging away from the open grave, Sam let his eyes rake across the misshapen stones.

"I'm…fine! Just…wind…knocked out."

Dean's voice was the most beautiful thing that Sam had ever heard and he bowed his head in silent relief. A moment later, he saw his brother pulling himself upright, using a nearby tombstone for support.

"You good?" he called out, edging closer to him as he kept a wary eye out for the ghost.

Dean tossed him a thumbs up, flashing the gun that he had managed to hold onto during his flight. Sam nodded and instantly dropped his as he dived for the can of gasoline. The quicker they got rid of Barnett, the quicker this would end. Dousing the women's remains with the foul-smelling liquid, Sam tossed the can aside and scrambled for his book of matches.

"Sam, drop!" Dean's voice had gone from casual to dangerous and Sam knew without having to be told that the ghost was right behind him. He had barely hit the ground when Dean's gun rang out like an old familiar tune.

Only, Dean swore loudly and an unnatural cold washed over Sam.

"Sam, look out!"

Clambering upright with matches in hand, Sam turned and flinched back. Standing in her own grave and staring intently at him was Alyssa Barnett. Her lips twisted upwards in a strangled smile, her fingers closing into a tight fist that swung towards him.

He was airborne before he had time to react.

Blinding pain flashed through the back of his head as it slammed with unforgiving force against something hard and everything turned grey. Dimly, he was aware of his body sliding down, landing with a thump in the cold weeds. Blackness encroached upon his spinning vision but he couldn't give in, not yet, not while…

The panicked calling of his name forced Sam to lift his head, to look up, to follow what was happening. Dean needed him, he needed…he needed too…

Sam shook his head, trying to clear the layer of fuzziness that had engulfed him. Through his twisting vision, he could just see Dean dashing towards him, a scared look on his face. Huh…he shoved an elbow under his body, attempting to rise but a cold hand against his cheek stopped him. Sagging back to rest against uneven and rough granite, he stared up into dead eyes and felt terror flood his veins. He couldn't get his body to move, he couldn't get his hands to raise, to fight, too…

"HEY!" Dean's voice was too loud and Sam's head whirled. Focus. He had to focus, he had to get up, he had to fight, he had too—

The muffled boom of the shotgun pulled him back to his senses and he blinked wildly. Dean had somehow ended up standing protectively over him, his feet on either side of his body.

"Dean…" it came out a soft croak but his brother didn't react as he fumbled for something in his pocket. Dean took a hurried step back, his boot treading on the fabric of Sam's jacket as he jerked the shotgun back up. Sam watched, mesmerized, as the woman flickered into sight only to explode into thousands of particles as Dean's bullet tore through her.

_I wonder if ghost are made of prokaryotic or eukaryotic cells…_Sam had just enough time to think before the thick blackness claimed him

#

"Sam? Sammy, C'mon, man, open your eyes…"

The words swirled around Sam in a way that was making him dizzy but Dean's voice was low, urgent. Demanding.

"Dude, I'm serious! I've got about two seconds before ghosty over there comes back. Open your freaking eyes!"

"'m good," Sam breathed out, forcing his impossibly heavy eyes open. Dean's blurred face flickered into view only a few inches away from his own. He was crouched next to Sam, both hands clasping his face. His still smoking resting across his knees, ready to be used in an instant.

Sam's head thumped nastily at the reminder of Barnett's ghost.

"Yeah, I'm good. Go," Groaning, Sam searched for something that he could use to pull himself up but Dean shook his head.

"Don't move. Just hang tight, buddy, hang tight." Dean's hand was against his chest, pushing him gently flat once again. Relief was oozing from the words and the pressure on his chest increased marginally before it disappeared. Sam blinked and suddenly Dean was towering above him. "I've got to barbeque that old witch before she decides to join the party. Just hold on and don't close your eyes, okay? Don't you close them."

Dean was gone as quick as he had came and Sam stared at the spot he had been, trying to keep up with the turn of events. Grappling with the edge of the memorial that had ended his journey so abruptly, Sam forced his unwilling body into a sitting position.

The whole world turned on its end and he had to take several deep breaths before everything righted itself. Gingerly pressing a hand against his aching head, Sam winced as warm blood soaked onto his skin. Pulling his hand away, he stared with horror at his red hand. No wonder Dean had sounded freaked…

A fumbled curse came from across the graveyard had Sam jerking his head up, trying to find Dean. He located his brother as he leaped over a headstone. The world bounced and Sam had to clutch at the ground as it threatened to spin out from under him.

Something flickered in his vision and Sam squinted hard. The ghost was standing behind Dean, her hands outstretched, and terror flooded Sam's stomach.

"Dean!" His call was weak, no more than a soft whisper. "No!" he watched through the swirling world in horror as Dean slid to a stop next to the grave none the wiser to the spirit behind him.

His gun, his gun had to be around here somewhere. Surely it could not have gone that far… With one hand he scrambled around, looking for his shotgun, but his head was pounding hard enough to make his stomach churn. Squinting up, Sam tried to get his vision to focus long enough for Dean and the spirit to stay in one place. There was a bright flare of light as the matches spring to life in Dean's hand.

Her hands came up, wrapping around Dean's neck from behind. His brother's body buckled, fighting against the supernatural force.

"DEAN!" His own voice was making his head throb but he lunged upright on unsteady legs. He staggered, unable to find his feet as the ground dipped and rolled underneath him. Pitching forward, Sam threw out his hand, trying to brace himself against the memorial, trying to reach his brother. Blinking back black spots, Sam gasped in surprise as a ball of flame exploded next to Dean.

The matches had been dropped into the grave.

"Dean…" Sam's legs gave way beneath his weight and suddenly the edge of a tombstone was rushing up to meet him. Pain lanced through his already aching body and then he knew no more.

#

The throbbing pain radiating in his head was the first thing that Sam became aware of. Each beat of his heart was sending pulsating spikes of agony through his body. Blackness beckoned to him once more and he drifted that way, only…somewhere, far away, he could hear…something.

Words, Sam decided after a long moment, they were words. The pain protested, tugging at him, pulling him back towards the pain-free bliss of numbness.

The words became louder and more intense. Familiar. He liked words. He liked long, complex words and words that formed ideas and words that expressed emotions and…Sam couldn't remember what he was supposed to be doing.

"Sam…"

Words, that was it. He was supposed to be listening to the words.

"—tch, Sam, don't you dare check out on me again. C'mon!"

_Dean…_that one word kicked all his other senses into motions and suddenly he could smell the blood and smoke that was heavy in the air, could hear the wind in the trees, could feel Dean hovering over him and his hands patting his cheek roughly.

"Sammy, I'm being serious. You've got about three seconds to open your eyes or I'm about to teach you the true meaning of pain."

Sam would have smiled at that idea if his brain wasn't trying to burst out of his skull. He could read the fear behind the gruff words, could hear it in the way that Dean's voice was pitched higher than normal and the too-tight grip on his shoulder.

"One…two,"

"I'm awake," Or, at least that was what Sam intended to say but the words came out all jumbled and slurred together. Dean paused and Sam felt him lean closer.

"Try again but preferably in English this time…" The fear had lessened in his brother's voice and Sam sighed, letting himself drift back towards—Dean was shaking his shoulders urgently, sending waves of pain skyrocketing through his head. Groaning in frustration, Sam snapped his eyes open.

That, it turned out, was a mistake. Dean's face above him began to spin wildly, blurring together into one worried expression only to split into three before merging into two. The trees just over Dean's head joined in the fun, twisting and twirling in all the wrong directions.

"Atta boy…" Dean's hand gently smoothed back his hair. His voice low and soothing, but his lips were out of sync with the sounds and Sam blinked, trying to follow along but that only made his head spin even worse. Letting out something that sounded horribly like a whimper, Sam squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

"Easy, Sammy, easy…" Dean's hands were strong and firm, rolling him gently over and onto his side before easing his head up and off the cold ground. The simple motion reignited the fiery pain and he jerked forward, retching violently.

Sam was shaking and covered in sweat once he was finished coughing up his dinner onto the side of the memorial. Dean was humming Led Zeppelin above him, one hand gently messaging the nape of his neck as he held Sam's body steady.

"S'rry," Sam grunted, pulling in a shuddering breath and trying to quell the nausea that was rising once again. Saliva began to pool in his mouth and he swallowed thickly.

"Nice, deep, breaths, Sam," Dean murmured, "Just breathe…"

They sat together on the frozen ground until Sam no longer felt in immediate danger of puking. Relaxing slightly, he patted Dean's knee clumsily.

"How you feeling?" Dean ventured hesitantly as he slipped his warm hand underneath Sam's sweaty bangs and pushed them back off his damp face.

"Like a freaking train hit me," Sam muttered sourly, wincing as the vibrations from his own voice sent the pain up a notch.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't a train. A pretty huge memorial. Damn ghost could have played baseball with her aim. Not to mention that you were an idiot. I told you not to move, Sam, but oh no. You had to try and whack your brains right out of your head..." Dean fell silent again, his hand washing up and down Sam's arm in a soothing motion while his other hand began to prod at the side of his head. Sam stiffened, a low noise escaping from the back of his throat.

"Shh, just be still…" Dean examination was quick but it left Sam reeling. When the world reorientated itself, Dean was just finishing wrapping his old blue bandana around his head. "You've opened up quite the gash in the back of your head, dude. Do you think you can walk?"

The thought of being vertical made Sam want to just give up and lie down in the grass until the weeds grew to cover him, but that simply was not the Winchester way.

"Yeah…" His voice sounded soft and weak even to his own ears. Two fingers were pressed lightly against his neck and the concern in Dean's voice became sharp, despite his light words.

"You'd better be able too, 'cause I ain't carrying your heavy ass to the car."

"I thought—was a stringy beanpole."

Dean's laughter was forced but it warmed Sam from the inside out. If they could joke about this, then surely it couldn't be all that bad. "You know, if you stopped eating rabbit food then you might fill out a little, might even be able to get a date. A nice juicy burger sounds like heaven right now."

"I dug," Sam reminded. Letting out a low groan, he let his aching head sink forward until it was resting against Dean's solid forearm.

"Yeah, and I fought off the creepy ghost chick. All that running back and forth between the graves made me hungry."

Sam huffed a snort. "Always hungry."

Dean pulled Sam a little closer, muttering something under his breath about annoying little brothers. Sam relaxed into his embrace and let his eyes shut of their own accord. Maybe Dean would just let him sleep here…

"My whole lower body is numb. Whaddya say we head back to the car?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut further, his stomach doing flip flops. Dean nudged his shoulder and in response he reached back, fumbling around until his fingers found the sleeve of Dean's leather jacket. Clenching it tightly, he gave a short nod.

"We are going to take this slow and easy, ya hear me, Sammy?" Dean waited for Sam to give another nod before continuing. "Let me do the work, you just have to focus on not passing out like some girl and moving your feet. I'll do the rest, alright?"

"'kay," Sam mumbled, forcing himself to take a deep breath in through his mouth. Dean began to rub his thumb gently over Sam's shoulder, giving him a moment to prepare. When Sam moved to gather his legs underneath himself, Dean gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and then slipped a hand under his elbow.

"Here we go. On three. One, two, three—" With one swift movement, Dean heaved them both to their feet. Sam sucked in a harsh gasp, the agony in his head spiking at the sudden change in elevation. Vertigo swamped his senses. Dean's hold on him became uncomfortably tight as he swayed, his legs refusing to do their job.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey—" Dean grunted, staggering forward in an attempt to keep both of them on their feet. Sam's knees were not locking and his head lolling forward against Dean's shoulder. "Hey, remember rule number one. Rule number one, dude, no fainting on me."

Sam didn't respond, his head hanging awkwardly against Dean's chest.

"Crap…" Dean shifted his brother's weight, trying to get a good look at his face underneath all the hair and blood. Sam's eyes were closed again, his skin a deathly sort of pale. "Crap," Dean repeated, pulling Sam's lax arm further over his shoulder and securing his grip around his waist as he tried to ignore the pit that was building in his stomach. His level of concern was quickly shooting up to be hospital size and if Sam didn't snap out of it…

"Sammy? Hey, Sam!" Dean jostled him but his head only sank further down. Cursing loudly, he began to drag him forward. Sam's sneakers scrapped along the ground, their owner making no effort to lift them.

"Ya know, this was a lot easier when you were still a squirt and not threatening to grow taller than me. Which I have not given you permission for, just so you know," Dean panted. The old nickname sent a sudden pang of nostalgia through Dean that threatened to take his breath away. It seemed like just yesterday when he'd been able to fling the kid over his shoulder and toss him around.

Sam groaned, his head rolling back, as he blinked his eyes rapidly.

Some of the tension in Dean's stomach dropped and he let out a soft chuckle of relief. "There you are, sasquatch! I thought you were going all Disney princess on me and that I was going to have to find some prince to kiss you awake."

"Dean—" Sam's voice was hazy, the one word slurring almost past recognition.

"It's me, buddy." He squeezed the wrist he was holding lightly. "C'mon, work with me here. Use those freakishly long legs of yours."

"D—hurts," Sam mumbled, his hands flailing around in uncoordinated movements till they found his head. "'m head…"

Dean slowed to a stop between a small headstone and a tree. "Can we go back to having a coherent conversation, Sam?"

"Sorry." Sam forced his head back up, gazing at Dean through lidded eyes before letting them slip shut. "World—dancing—can't," he broke off, swallowing thickly.

The knot in Dean's stomach clenched. "I know," he murmured. "I know, just…just walk with me here." He started moving again, glancing ahead at the impossibly far away Impala.

"Don't…don't feel so good." Sam pressed his head against Dean's shoulder, his breath coming in fast, short, gasps.

"If you dare throw up on my boots, then you'll have laundry duty for the next month!" Dean warned gruffly as he began mentally planning a route to the nearest hospital. Dad wouldn't be thrilled but screw Dad. He wasn't here to judge things for himself.

To his surprise, Sam let out a low snort of amusement that was followed by a muffled moan. He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I'm good…" he whispered in reply to Dean's unspoken concern. His legs began to twitch, trying to bear his own weight and Dean stopped once again.

"Just lean on me, I have you," he coached, still holding up all of Sam's weight as his brother struggled to find his footing.

"'m good," Sam kept repeating in frustration until he was more or less standing. A sliver of the worry lifted from Dean's heart and he breathed a silent sigh of relief as they continued to creep their way towards the car.

"Almost there, Sam, you're doing great. Just keep moving," he panted, adjusting his sweaty grip once more as the car came into clear view. "Man, you weigh a freaking ton. You are so doing laundry this weekend."

"Didn't throw up—boots," Sam pointed out weakly.

Dean snickered, kicking a loose rock out of Sam's path. "Yeah, well, you owe me for this." They reached the car and Dean came to a stumbling stop next to the passenger side. Leaning Sam up against the car, he fumbled for the keys, cursing when he grabbed his lighter instead.

Sam's hand wove its way into Dean's jacket, clenching with an urgency that had not been there before. Dean looked up in alarm, grasping his brother's biceps hard.

"You gonna puke?"

Sam blinked in surprise. "No, well maybe, but my book—"

Dean searched his face, arching his eyebrows. "I thought we were having coherent conversations, remember?" Sticking the key in the lock, he twisted with one hand while the other kept Sam steady. Flinging the door open, he splayed a hand over the top of Sam's bloody head. "Alright you just need to shift over a little and the seat is right there—"

"Dean—" Sam cut him off, tugging at his jacket again as his eyes flashed open just long enough for a glimpse of hazel to be seen. "My book, didn't put it away. Don't want to sit on it, might bend the pages…"

Dean stared at Sam in utter amazement, not sure if he should feel relief that his brother was aware of what was happening around him or despair that he had a total geek for a brother. "You're worried about a book? A _book_? Hate to break it too you, but they are inanimate objects that don't actually have feelings and I don't give a crap about them."

He once again went to shift Sam down but his brother flung out his other hand blindly, catching Dean in the chest and clenching his hand in the folds of his tee-shirt.

"Dean, please."

Dean heaved a long-suffering sigh, gazing up at the stars with disbelief. "This is ridiculous. Absolutely freaking ridiculous." Still bracing his hand in the middle of Sam's chest, Dean ducked into the car. Sure enough, sitting right in the middle of Sam's seat was a worn old paperback, one that he had seen in Sam's hands more often than not. Snatching it up, he tossed it uncaringly into the back seat. "Damn book."

"Thank you," The tension sunk out of Sam and Dean just shook his head.

"Alright, book-worm, I've moved the stupid thing out of the way. Now, will you please sit down in the car before you fall flat on your face?" Sam went willing this time and Dean guided him down, being careful not to bang his head against the metal, so that he was sprawled awkwardly across the bench.

"You good?" Dean asked as he folded his brother's long legs into the car.

"Good," Sam replied with a heavy sigh as he tipped his head back to rest against the seat. Dean crouched down in front of him, gazing worriedly up into his white face. Blood was still trickling down from underneath his hairline, painting his face and neck red.

That hospital thing was seeming like a better idea by the minute.

Patting Sam's knee gently, Dean rose. "Okay, listen, Sammy, I'm going to run and grab the weapons and stuff. I'll be right back and then we'll get you to the hospital. Don't worry, we'll get you the taken care of."

Sam jerked his head up in surprise. "No, no hospital," he grunted.

"Don't be stupid. Your head is freaky enough as it is, we don't mess with it. This time, listen to me and don't move. You do, and I'll kick you into next week." Dean voice left no room for debate as he turned and began making his way back towards the still smoking grave.

"Dean!" Sam made no effort to move, knowing that quiet call would bring his brother to his side. Dean glared up at the sky in frustration and threw his hand up into the air before marching back over to the car. Sam didn't look any better from this angle and his stomach began to knot again.

"What?" he growled.

"Dean, we know that I have a concussion," Sam said slowly, forcing each word out as his forehead scrunched up in pain. "What are the doctors going to do for it that you can't?"

Dean held up his hand, ticking off his finger as he counted. "Well, for one they can make sure that your brain isn't trying to self-destruct, two, they have got the good drugs, and three, hot nurses."

"I'm fine! The pain isn't even that bad…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Wow, Sam, just… wow. That is the worst lie you have ever told, including the time you tried to hide that dog under your bed. And it's not just the pain. You've passed out at least twice, your balance is all shot and your vision is clearly all messed up. While I'm sure that you are benefited for seeing multiples of me that doesn't change the fact that we are going to the hospital. End of discussion."

"They are going to ask questions about where Dad is," Sam pointed out. "I mean, we haven't even seen him in two weeks. Do we even know if he is still in Virginia? What are we going to tell them? Besides, Dad wouldn't want us to go."

"Screw Dad, he left me in charge," Dean snapped. He paused, running a hand over his face, and when he spoke again it was softer. "We'll tell them that he is on a business trip. Just don't make an announcement that we haven't seen him and we'll be just fine. This isn't exactly our first rodeo here, kiddo."

Sam deflated, letting his eyes slip shut again as his forehead scrunched up in pain. Dean watched him hesitantly for a moment before taking off at a dead sprint back towards the grave.

#

Dean was sweating almost as badly as Sam was as he steered the Impala carefully off the Interstate and towards the blue sign that indicated there was a hospital ahead.

"We still good?" he asked, tossing another anxious glance at Sam instead of at the road. Sam grunted, curling into himself and breathing heavily through his mouth. "We are so close, I swear, just—just hold on."

Sam grunted again, his body trembling with the effort of not throwing up. Apparently, concussions and speeding cars did not exactly mix and he was clenching the edges of his seat with enough force to turn his knuckles white. Dean risked another glance over, trying to swing the Impala into the turn as gently as possible. Sam let out a low sob as he swallowed hard.

"Ha! Look, there it is." Dean grinned, squeezing the back of Sam's clammy neck as the hospital came into view at the end of the block. "What'd I tell you?"

"Dean—" The way that Sam gasped out the word had Dean pressing harder against the accelerator.

"Hold that thought, dude, hold it in!" Dean ordered as Sam hunched over in his seat, moaning in-between shuddering breaths.

"I'm going—" Sam cut himself off, gagging hard.

"Crap." Dean hesitated briefly, his eyes gazing longingly ahead, before spinning the wheel hard and pulling off to the curb. Sam was gagging again, fingers already scrambling for the handle of the car. Dean flew out of his seat, jogging around to his brother's side just in time to watch as the door swung open and Sam spilled out.

The instant his knees hit the sidewalk, Sam threw up.

"Seriously, man, you couldn't have waited, like five more minutes?" Dean glanced back at the massive building that they had come so close to reaching, before crouching next to Sam and running a hand up and down his quivering back. Sam aimed a glare at him before doubling over, his body jerking violently in time with the harsh gagging sounds. "I mean, you could have had some hot nurse to hold your hand or maybe even—"

"Not helping," Sam coughed weakly. His eyes wandered in the direction of Dean's face, passing over him and staring off a little to the right before he ducked his head, vomit spewing from him once more. Dean's stomach clenched, his hand tightening in Sam's jacket

"Of course it's helping. Beautiful women make everything better," Dean teased, pushing Sam's overly long hair back as he continued to cough and splutter. Sam let out a low groan, his whole body trembling with pain and exhaustion. He retched weakly, spitting the acidic contents of his stomach onto the ground, before hunching over and waiting for the next attack.

The streetlight shone above their heads, illuminating the sidewalk as they waited for the nausea to pass. Dean finally leaned over Sam. "You done?" he asked, smoothing the floppy mess of hair back into place. Sam shrugged, slumping back into Dean's arms and curling an arm protectively around his stomach. "Well, do you think you can least hold it off for the hop, skip and jump that it will take us to reach the hospital? Seriously. Two blocks away…"

Shaking his head at their typical Winchester luck, Dean eased Sam back up and into the passenger seat. Sam let him man-handled him, his body limp and complacent as he raised one hand to clutch at his head.

"Two freaking blocks," Dean muttered as he raced back to his side and threw the car into drive. A moment later, they were pulling up into the bay for the emergency room and Dean wasted no time in pulling his brother out again.

Sam swallowed a protesting whimper and Dean patted his arm with a tenderness that was reserved for Sam and Sam alone.

"It's not far," he assured as the automatic doors opened with a _whoosh_. "Just a few more steps…"

The nurse sitting at the desk glanced up from whatever she was novel she had been engrossed in. Her eyes went wide and she let out a small gasp.

"What happened?" She was already up and moving, dashing from her desk and moving to grasp Sam's other arm.

"Took a bad tumble, hit his head," Dean summarized as the nurse directed them towards the hard plastic chairs.

"Where are his parents?" The nurse grasped Sam's elbow and carefully they eased him down to sit in one of the chairs. Dean sank down onto the edge of the one directly next, his hands not relenting their firm grip on his brother's jacket. Sam swayed dangerously, his head lolling onto his shoulder in what looked to be an uncomfortable position.

"I'm his brother, I can sign permission forms," Dean briskly stated, his gaze not leaving Sam.

"Give us just a minute," she said and then she was back at her desk.

"Hear that, Sammy-boy? Gonna see the doc in just a moment." Dean grinned at his brother, helping him to shift back a little so that he could rest his head against the wall. Dried blood flaked off his hair as Dean casually swiping Sam's bangs aside and he grimaced.

""kay," Sam breathed out, his hands clenching and unclenching in the fabric of his jeans. Dean watched him worriedly, gnawing at his lower lip as he tried hard not to notice how pale Sam's skin was.

A shadow fell over them and Dean half turned to see the admissions nurse standing in front of them.

"We'll have him in as soon as we can," she explained softly, tapping the insurances forms lightly against her hand.

"As soon as—no offensive, but Sam is in a lot of pain and I don't see no one else here," Dean growled, his voice dropping in sudden anger.

"You weren't here half an hour ago," she said stiffly, thrusting the forms towards him. "Now, unless you have legal guardianship I suggest you call your parents and tell them to get down here."

Dean snatched the forms. "Our dad is on a business trip and won't be able to get here anytime soon. Look, I'm over 18. I can and will sign for him." He met her steely eyes, his own firm and unbending. Finally, she turned and scuttled back to her desk.

"Unbelievable. I'm 20 years old and people won't let me sign for anything. I thought that being an adult would be more fun…" Dean snorted, settling back and lightly banging their knees together. "Just unbelievable."

"Not legal to drink, either," Sam grunted, the ghost of a smile on his pale face before it faded back into a grimace.

"That's never stopped me before," Dean said with a smile, digging his wallet out of his pocket and looking through the different cards. "Hey, did we use the 'Clark' card last time when that wendigo swiped me?"

Sam pulled in a deep breath, trying to think through the haze that was surrounding his mind. "Uh…Clark?" Dean answered in the affirmative and Sam winced as he tried to jog his memory. "Yeah…yeah, I think so." He cut himself off, swallowing hard. Dean ducked his head, trying to get a better look at his brother's face while also scouting out the nearest trashcan.

Sam blew out the air in his lungs in a rush, sweat building on his face and Dean sat on the edge of the seat, insurance forms forgotten, as he gripped Sam's arms roughly. A moment later Sam's tense muscles relaxed and Dean hesitantly shifted back in his seat.

Smoothing out the now crumpled papers, he glanced once more at the cards. "Awesome, then I bequeath you 'Sam Taylor'." Jotting down the information, Dean cast another sideways glance at his brother. Turning in his chair so that their shoulders were brushing, he cleared his throat pointedly and continue to check off boxes. A moment later, the heavyweight of Sam's head pressed against his collarbone and, for the briefest of seconds, Dean let his head drop to rest against Sam's.

Next to them, the doors _whooshed _open again, admitting the small family that came shuffling in. The mother cradled a young girl who was screaming her head off and Sam flinched at the noise his face losing even more color. Dean glared at them, his arm tightening around Sam's shoulders.

The clock overhead continued to tick at an agonizingly slow pace after Dean finished filling out the required forms. The child continued to cry in the corner and Sam was looking more like death warmed over at every sound.

At long last, a pretty young nurse in grey scrubs pushed open the doors and crossed over to them with a kind smile on her face.

"Sam Taylor?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," Dean answered for Sam, straightening in his seat. Sam raised his head a fraction off of Dean's shoulder, squinting owlishly in her direction. She smiled again and reached out for his arm. Dean grabbed his other arm and together they pulled Sam to his feet.

Sam blinked hard, a soft noise leaving his throat as his knees buckled and he swayed alarmingly.

"Easy there, dude." Dean twisted his hand firmly into his brother's jacket, keeping him steady. Sam's head swiveled towards him, instinctively following the sound of his voice and a flash of love for this stupid kid flood Dean's heart unexpectedly.

"I'll take him from here," the nurse said softly, hooking her slim arm around Sam's waist and pulling him close.

"Nah, we're a package deal, sweetheart. Besides, no offense, but you and Sasquatch here don't exactly match in size. I wouldn't want him falling on you and bruising that pretty face." Dean flashed her a winning smile. Her cheeks flushed red and she ducked her head to meekly avoid his gaze.

"Listen, sir, I just need to get Sam settled and then he can request to have you brought back. We will come and find you at that point."

Dean's smile soured and he opened his mouth again but a soft tug on the sleeve of his jacket had him looking at Sam instead.

"Dean, don't worry. I'll be sure to ask for you just as soon as you've had the chance to read all those _Better Home and Garden _magazines. I could see you eyeing them." He sucked in a deep breath, his smile wavering as he looking in Dean's general direction before admitting, "Getting a little dizzy here."

The nurse gave Dean a pointed look as Sam fisted her scrubs in an attempt to stay upright. Dean reluctantly let go, keeping his arms out until he was sure that the nurse could support his brother's weight. Together they disappeared through the swinging doors.

Despite Sam's earlier threat, Dean only had time to sprint out and move the Impala into a normal parking spot before another nurse came around to collect him.

He was led back into the small ER, only half-listened as the nurse chatted cheerfully to him, as he scanned the sectioned off rooms for any sign of his brother. Finally, the nurse slipped through a pale, blue, curtain and Dean followed suit.

There, he found Sam lying on his side on a reclined hospital bed as a second nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. His had already been changed into a plain hospital gown and his clothes had been folded neatly and placed on the chair next to his bed.

"What's all this? You getting ready for the prom, Sammy?." Dean asked lightly, his eyes flickering to the various monitors as he removed the clothing and flopped down onto the hard, plastic chair next. Sam did not bother to open his eyes as he flipped him off. Dean snorted, reaching out to ruffle Sam's hair before thinking better of it and slapping his shoulder instead.

The nurse who had brought Dean in bustled over to Sam, flipping through his chart. "It's standard procedure for anyone in the ER, it's better to be safe than sorry after all. Don't make him feel embarrassed."

Dean didn't turn to face her as he leaned forward. "This bitch embarrasses himself on a daily basis, he doesn't need any help from me."

Sam cracked an eye. "You're such a jerk"

The nurse blinked, trying to hide her surprise as she reattached the folder at the end of the bed. Dean gave her a charming smile, winking as she blushed bright red. Hurrying to the curtain she turned back to say, "The doctor should be here in just a moment," and then vanished.

"Aw, Sammy, you scared the pretty nurse off," Dean teased. Somewhere down the hall, someone began to shout for help and the sound of rushed footsteps moved that direction. Blowing out a breath, Dean pushed his chair back onto two legs and propped his feet up on the corner of Sam's bed.

"TV?" he asked, gesturing to the set overhead. Sam's face blanched at the thought and he let his head sink deeper into the thin pillow, curling his hand under his cheek.

"If it stops you from leering at any nurse that passes by," he murmured his voice still tight with pain.

"Nah, now that you mention it, that seems like a much better way to pass the time. One of these days I might even get you into it." Dean settled back, his eyes focused solely on Sam's pale face. "Hey, they put you on any good drugs yet?"

Sam huffed, his fingers squeezing shut over the blankets. Dean heaved a sigh, drumming his fingers against his leg. He hated waiting for doctors…

Sam let out a pitiful moan, curling in a little more as his hand once again threaded itself through his mop of hair.

Dean sighed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the tattered object in his hand. He had grabbed it on impulse as he had parked the car and did not know if he should be proud of himself or embarrassed. Flipping open the ragged paperback, he quickly located the old receipt that Sam had been using as a bookmark.

"Speak a word of this to anyone," Dean threatened, "and I'll tell everyone about that time when you had me read _Sleeping Beauty _to you forty times in a row."

"I was like, four, Dean."

"Still doesn't change the facts."

Clearing his throat self-consciously, Dean started at the top of the page, keeping his voice soft. Not to his surprise, Sam let out a low breath, slowly relaxing to the words of the story and the sound of his brother's voice.

Dean continued to read for the better part of an hour. His voice was just starting to become raspy when the curtain parted with a swish and a large man entered the room. Dean sat up straight, eyeing the doctor cautiously as the man's eyes swept over Sam. Pulling the file from the end of the bed, he glanced through it quickly.

"Looks like you've had a nasty collusion there, young man." His eyes were tired, but kind, as he raised them to look at Sam before glancing back over at Dean.

"Something like that, yeah," Sam said, flickering his eyes open as the doctor settled down on the bed next to him.

"Well, I'm Doctor Corry and we are going to do all we can to get you back into tiptop shape, alright? And who is this with you? A friend, or…?" he trailed off.

"His brother," Dean growled out, stepping closer to Sam and resting a hand on his shoulder. The doctor raised his arms in a non-threatening manner and gave him a calming smile before turning back to Sam. Pulling out a pair of blue latex gloves, he snapped them on and began to gently comb through Sam's blood-encrusted hair.

"How bad is the pain on a scale of one to ten?" he asked quietly.

Sam's face screwed up and he sucked in a harsh breath as the doctor hit particularly painful spot. "A seven…." He ground out, his face growing paler.

"Uh, Doctor Corry, it might be wise to put him on something that will help with nausea," Dean warned, his eyes narrowing as he watched his brother. The doctor looked up at him sharply.

"Has he been throwing up?" he asked as he removed his hands from Sam's head. Stripping off his blood-stained gloves, he tossed them into the trashcan at the foot of the bed and pulled on another pair.

"Yeah, a couple of times."

"And how has his balance been?"

"Not great," Dean admitted.

The doctor nodded as he took out a penlight. "We are probably looking at a fairly serious concussion, if not a fractured skull. I'm going to order an MRI to be done just in case. Sam, look at me."

Sam worked his eyes open, the lines in his face growing taunt as he did his best to follow the doctor's directions.

"You're seeing double, am I right? Perhaps experiencing vertigo?" the doctor asked and Sam nodded miserably. Sitting back the doctor made several notes on Sam's chart before smiling gently at him. "Well, young man, I think you'll live. You are even going to get a week off from school out of the deal." He frowned slightly as Sam's face dropped and he glanced quizzically at Dean.

"He's a freak and gets high off of doing papers," Dean supplied, ignoring Sam's embarrassed "_Dean!"_

Doctor Corry shook his head and stood. "Still, you're going to need to take it easy for the next week. And by taking it easy I mean no video games, no tv, no reading, etc." he paused, waiting for Dean to nod and Sam look contrite before continuing. "And, depending on the MRI, we may want to admit you for least 24 hours, just for observation. But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. First, things first, I'll order to have some Kaopectate and Oxycodone started, that should help with both nausea and the pain."

The doctor left as quickly as he had come and a few minutes later an older nurse entered and began to administer the drugs into the IV port. Sam's face slowly relaxed as the Oxycodone took effect and Dean found himself breathing easier as well.

"They got the good drugs," Sam mumbled sleepily, his eyelids growing heavy as he fought off a yawn. Dean smiled, patting Sam's arm.

"I told you it was a good idea, didn't I?" He grinned, reclining back.

Sam was silent and Dean thought that he had managed to drift off to sleep when he spoke again, his voice slurred and heavy. "Dad's gonna be mad."

"Dude, Dad's not gonna be mad," Dean stated and Sam chuffed a disagreement. "Well, annoyed, maybe, but not mad."

"He already thinks that I mess up everything I do…"

"He's hard on you because he wants to push you to be better, Sam," Dean tried and Sam snorted.

"I'm not as good as you, Dean. Never will be, might as well just stop trying." Sam's words were growing more slurred, the pauses more pronounced as the drugs did their job. Dean heaved a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to think of something to say

"This was nothing more than a stupid accident. Crap happens, Dad will understand," he finally settled on lamely. This was not the first time that Sam had said something similar and Dean knew this was like putting a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Sam made a sleepy noise of disagreement but did not speak again. Dean sat back, fingering his cell phone in his pocket as Sam drifted off.

It wasn't long after that that a nurse appeared and Sam was wheeled off to get his MRI, leaving Dean in the small cubical with nothing to do but pace the small length and smile at the very pretty brunette nurse who kept entering the cubicle three doors down.

Doctor Corry walked past and, catching Dean's eye, abruptly veered off course. Something darkened in Dean's heart and this time he could not muster a smile as the nurse passed by.

"How's Sam?" he asked without preamble. The doctor smiled, his eyes softening.

"He's still in the MRI, but he should be out soon. I did want a word with you, though." This did nothing to help Dean's nerves and he braced himself. "Have you managed to reach your parents?"

Dean relaxed. He knew how to handle absent parent issues. "I've called," he lied through his teeth, "but our Dad is on a business trip. Trust me, I can take care of Sam until he gets back."

The doctor did not look comforted and he shifted. "It's just… you don't have legal guardianship. I really would fill more comfortable if I could at least talk to your father over the phone…"

Dean shrugged. "He isn't answering right now. As soon as I get ahold of him, I promise to have him call you." Dad probably wouldn't even call back until his hunt was done and they would be long gone from the hospital by then. Doctor Corry's face relaxed and he clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"You take good care of him, I can tell. Well, that is when you aren't out causing trouble at three in the morning. My own mother worked three jobs just to make ends meet and my older sister did a lot for me. Took on a lot of responsibility that she didn't have too…"

Dean looked away and the doctor squeezed his shoulder harder. "Just let me know when your dad calls so we can hash out more details. Sam'll be right back to normal with nothing more than time and rest."

Dean nodded numbly, offering a brief smile as the doctor left. He stared after him for a long moment, before pulling out his phone. Dean made the call even as anxiety twisted into his stomach. Sam was right, ending up in the hospital would first trigger concern and fear from Dad but his father had mastered masking those emotions with anger.

When the phone went straight to voice-mail, Dean didn't bother to leave a message.

Sam was wheeled back in moments before Doctor Corry came back, announcing that Sam had no fracture to his skull, for which they should all be grateful, but that he wanted to keep Sam overnight anyway. Dean had smiled, agreeing that was for the best, and after the Doctor left but before the nurse came to move them into a room, he had bundled Sam into a wheelchair and was out the door.

They would be just fine now that they knew his brain wasn't about to bleed out. Besides, Dean was an expert when it came down to taking care of Sam.

TBC...

**Thanks for reading this far! (sorry that it got to be so long. This was originally going to be a one-shot but I got kinda carried away so I broke it up into two parts.)**

**I would love to hear what you think and let me know the good, the bad, and the ugly! :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: One of the more stupid thoughts that I have had is that I would have time to post the second half of this stories in the two weeks leading up to and taking finals. Haha, I was so wrong. I hardly had time to sleep, never mind write. Anyway, thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for those who reviewed, they mean the world and then some to me.**

**Disclaimer: not mine. **

Chapter Two

Dean shifted the bag of groceries onto his hip, trying to free one hand to dig for the keys that were hidden somewhere in the depths of his pocket. Cursing, he was stooping to put the jug of milk onto the ground when the door swung open. Dean glanced up in surprise before his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Sam!" he snapped. "I thought I told you—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sam muttered, backing up to let Dean inside. "Dean, would you stop the mother hen act? I'm sick of it."

"I do not mother-hen." Dean's mouth narrowed into a thin line, his eyes sweeping critically over his brother and taking note of the way that he was holding onto the door.

"Right," Sam snorted, reaching out with his left hand to brush against the wall as he made his way back towards the small rickety table. Dean dumped the bags unceremoniously across the books that Sam had carefully arranged over the wooden surface.

Sam squawked in protest, but Dean was already moving back to his side. Gripping his bicep lightly, he glowered at his younger brother. "What were you doing, huh?" he said shortly. "You aren't supposed to be up without me around, man. You could have fallen. _Again_. And between you and me, one more crack to the noggin and you'll be spending your days in a mental institution."

"That's not funny," Sam protested as he wobbled away from the wall, his legs still unsteady. Dean frowned, his eyes reading the fresh lines of pain. "Your headache is back again, isn't it? Damn it, dude."

"Stop harping. My headache was there before I walked the freaking five steps to the door. I was just trying to be nice…" He sank gingerly down to sit at the table and pushed the plastic bag off of his biology book. Dean folded his arms, his eyes hardening.

"You're balance is all screwed up, man. Good old doc said that it might take a little while to fix itself but until then, you've got to take it slow. It's only been five days since I had to practically carry you unto the ER. So, just humor me and, until you can walk in a straight line, I don't want you wandering about without me around, okay? And what the hell are you doing studying?"

"I've missed almost a full week of school and all that information isn't just going to appear in my head by staring at the wall. I'm behind enough as it is." Sam scowled, snagging his pencil up and pulling his notebook closer. "Besides, I'm no longer seeing double and the headaches aren't nearly as bad."

"Right…" Dean threw up his hands in exasperation as Sam carefully jotted something down in the immaculate table he had created. "This is stupid." With a sudden burst of frustration, Dean yanked the book out of Sam's grasp and slammed it closed.

"Dean! What the hell, man?"

"I'm only going to say this once, Sam," Dean said as he brandished the book in Sam's face. "You're in pain, studying is only making it worse. You're done." Tossing the heavy object over onto his bed to land with a _thump_, Dean turned to the groceries.

Sam huffed out his breath in a long sigh, a nerve twitching in his cheek. "Fine."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. He straightened, folding his arms tightly across his chest as a smirk danced across his face. "What? No arguing? Huh, I wonder if it because you are in pain, maybe in the form of a headache, hmm?"

Sam shoved his brother away. "Shut up."

Dean laughed and began to sort through the bags. Sam glanced at his brother and then back down at his hands. He began to twirl the pencil, opening his mouth only to shut it again.

"What, cat got your tongue?" Dean asked mindlessly as he shoved the peanut butter onto the counter alongside the packages of oatmeal. "Spit it out or you'll be brooding all night like some teenage girl."

Sam sighed, running a hand roughly through his hair and tossing the pencil back onto the table. "I was just thinking that it probably wouldn't be the best time to suggest that I go back to school tomorrow?" he hedged.

"Probably not," Dean agreed, pausing to nail his brother with a dark look. "Revisit the topic of being able to walk in a straight line."

"I'm no longer bumping into things or falling down. I just…I just wobble a little a bit. That's no reason not to go to school."

"Uh, that's a perfectly good reason." Dean turned away, shoving the half-gallon of milk forcefully into the small fridge. "Why the sudden desire to go back? It's just school."

"It's not just—" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have a test tomorrow," he finally admitted in a muffled voice.

"All the more reason to skip." Dean pulled back, sorting through the sacks that were still full. "Where the hell did the pie go? I know I bought some pie."

"Dean," Sam edged forward on his seat. "Listen, I've studied really, _really_, hard for this and if I don't go tomorrow then I won't be able to make this test up."

Something in Sam's voice made Dean turn and he studied him for a moment. Sam's eyes were large, pain-filled, and pleading.

"Put away the eyes, dude…" Turning back to the table, he balled up the empty sacks and let out a heavy sigh. "Let's just see how you're doing tomorrow, alright?" he finally compromised. Sam's smile would have charmed the devil himself and Dean rolled his eyes.

"You're such a geek."

Sam shrugged, the smile still firmly in place. "Can I have my book back, please?"

Dean smirked. "Hell no, man. I'm sure that you know all that material frontwards, backward, sideways and upside down. It's just going to make your head hurt more because, despite your best effort to not notice, reading and concussions don't exactly mix." Dean pulled open the last bag on the table and frowned as he pulled out two Styrofoam containers. "Where did my pie go?"

"You probably just forgot it," Sam said, tugging his notebook closer, his eyes skimming over the text.

"I didn't forget my damn pie, Sammy,' Dean growled as he yanked the notebook away and tossed it over to join the book. Plopping down at the table, he passed one of the containers over to Sam.

Without any preamble, Dean began to devour his cheeseburger. "So did Dad call while I was out?" he asked around his mouthful of meat and cheese.

Sam scoffed lightly, snagging a fry and dragging it limply through the ketchup. "Yeah, actually he did. He said to be packed and ready by Sunday afternoon." He paused, glancing up at Dean who was more focused on fitting the sandwich in his mouth than looking at Sam. "Mentioned that he had hoped to send us on a job west of here before he got back, but because of…" he gestured at his head, shrugging.

Dean swallowed awkwardly before cramming another fry into his mouth. "We can still tackle it if Dad is willing to wait an extra day. By then your head should be somewhat back to normal."

Sam shrugged, finally eating the fry he had been playing with. "Dad said something about a big hunt that is going down in Wyoming."

"Then something big is happening down there and that is where we need to be. The other job can wait…" Dean kicked his brother underneath the table, trying to get him to look at him. "Besides, we don't take jobs when we aren't 100%, you can't blame yourself for ghosty throwing you into a freaking memorial. Happens all the time. Well, maybe not the memorial part. Gravestones are usually more of our thing, but you always were about being fancy."

"Well, I'm pretty sure Dad doesn't care which one it was. I screwed up, end of the story." Shutting the lid on his food, Sam made to stand but Dean shook his head, wiping his lips with the back of his hand

"Stay. And finish your dinner," he ordered, before tacking a please onto the end. Sam glowered but turned to pick at his sandwich.

Picking up a fry, he twirled it in Sam's ketchup. "He's afraid, Sam," he confided quietly. "He just doesn't show it real well sometimes."

"Maybe he should work on that," Sam snapped.

"Maybe," Dean agreed so softly that Sam almost thought he had imagined it.

Next door to them, a woman laughed loudly as someone cursed. A car rumbled past, followed by the long blaring of a horn.

"So if Dad is going to be back by the end of the week then, dude, Lisa Williams—"

"Dean, do you want me to eat or not?" Sam protested, a smile flitting softly across his face as Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm just saying. Man, women don't get much hotter than her. At all. Like…" Dean continued to prattle on and Sam rolled his eyes at the appropriate moments, the pit in his stomach lessening for the first time since the phone had rung.

#

Dean's soft snores rumbled across the room and Sam groaned into the pillow that he had buried his face in. There was a long moment of silence and Sam gingerly lifted his head up to see if Dean was awake. He wasn't and another snore filled the silent room. The dim light sinking in through the thin curtains illuminated the ticking clock, showing that it was almost four in the morning and yet Sam could not have been further from sleep.

_The phagocytosis engulfs vesicles, kinda like eating it, while pinocytosis engulfs smaller ones. More like drinking. And Energocytoris is an unbroken form of engulfing…or was it exocytosis? _

Taking a deep breath, Sam rolled the series of facts through his head, trying to remember which was which. His stomach was churning with nerves, his mind unwilling to settle down, and his head was aching more than he was willing to admit. He had to pass this test…he had to get at least 90%, preferably 95% but at this point, he would take what he could get.

He couldn't afford to let his grade drop.

Tapping his fingers anxiously against his thigh, he glanced back at the clock. 4:04 am. He still had almost three hours to study if he could just get to his stupid book. Dean may have been snoring but Sam had the nasty feeling that he would wake up if Sam tried to get out of bed. Dean had been hyper (_Hypotonic = water entering the cells, hypertonic = water leaving the cells)_ hyper-aware of Sam ever since the hunt and an overprotective, grumpy and sleep-deprived, Dean would be much less likely to agree to him going to school.

Anxiety stirred in the pit of his stomach and he gingerly turned over onto his side, trying to remember what it was that the EMC did and its correlation with protein. He could just see his book from his bed where it was resting on Dean's duffel bag halfway across the room.

The clock slowly ticked to 4:16 before Sam finally tossed his blanket aside with a grunt. Eyeing Dean carefully, he braced his hand against the side of the bed and slowly eased himself into a sitting position and waited for the small wave of vertigo to pass. Once his vision had cleared, he gripped the bedside table and heaved himself onto his feet.

Dean let out a low snort, rolling onto his side and curling further into the blanket before stilling and Sam let out a breath he did not know that he was holding. Hurrying forward, he snagged his book. Shooting Dean another glace to make sure he was asleep, Sam scampered back to bed. Sinking down into the still-warm sheets, Sam tossed the blankets over his legs and began to flip through the pages.

Finding his bookmark, Sam raised the book eagerly to his eyes. Squinting, he moved his head closer until his nose was almost squashed against the pages but it was no use. Between the lack of sufficient light and concussion, he was not able to clearly make out the words.

The sick feeling in Sam's stomach intensified and he only just stopped himself from slamming the book shut. Curling his fingers around the thick spine in frustration, he bowed his head. He had not been to school this week, he didn't know the material for this test and he wasn't going to pass it.

Goodbye full-ride scholarships, hello training and hunting…

Slumping down in his bed, Sam tried to curb the fear that was filling his gut.

Sam watched the numbers on the clock slowly tick forward past 4:30 and into 5:00…6:00…6:30 hit and the alarm began to blare pitifully. Sam flung a hand out, smashing the buttons and silencing it before it could further antagonize the headache that was pounding against his skull from the hours spent staring at the stupid thing. Dean groaned, rolling over and thrusting a pillow onto his head but Sam was already pushing back the covers. Grasping his book in one hand, he was making a beeline for the bathroom when Dean's rough voice stopped him.

"Where's the fire?" Dean stuck his head out from under the pillow, eyeing Sam through sleep glazed eyes.

"Go back to sleep," Sam snapped.

Dean continued to stare up at him, his brain taking a moment to process everything. "Why'd the alarm go off? It's _way_ to be early to be up," he asked before his eyes widened slightly and he sank back into the bed, pulling the pillow over his head. "You're not goin' to school today."

Sam's lip twitched upwards in annoyance. "Why not?"

"Go back to bed, Sam."

"No," Sam retorted, shuffling towards the bathroom. "I'm going to go get ready. You'd better have yourself out of that bed by 7:30 so that you can drive me because otherwise, I'm walking."

Before he slammed the door shut, he heard Dean muttering something about where he could stick his stupid test. Flicking the lights on, he had to pause, blinking to readjust his eyes as his headache flared. Rubbing absently at the tender spot, Sam propped his book open against the faucet. He fumbled blindly for his toothpaste as he poured over the small text, his eyes flickering back and forth rapidly.

Dean spent the morning trying unsuccessfully to change Sam's mind, but his younger brother refused to give an inch.

"I still don't like this," Dean grouched even as they were pulling into the school parking lot. He put the Impala into park and turned to give Sam a hard look. "I'm serious, you're not ready for this yet. "

"Bite me," Sam snapped, his eyes glinting in annoyance.

"Dude, for the last week you haven't spent more than an hour at a time on your feet. This is like eight hours we're talking here." His green eyes were dark with concern and Sam softened.

"I feel better today. I can do this. Don't worry about it," he reached down for his impossibly heavy backpack and tried not to feel Dean's worried gaze boring a hole in his back. "If today is too much then I won't go tomorrow, alright?" he compromised, moving slowly to swing the straps across his shoulders.

Dean's hand jumped out, grabbing his arm. "Sammy, I'm putting 20 bucks down right now that before the day is over I'm going to have to come back here to pick up your sorry hide. Why don't we just save the trip and just head home right now."

"Double or nothing? I could use 40 dollars of spare change."

Dean rolled his eyes as Sam tugged his door open.

"I'll see you at three, okay? Don't worry."

Before Dean had time to reply, Sam closed the door firmly and began the long walk from the parking lot to the front doors. It wasn't until he was pushing his way inside that he heard the familiar rumble of Impala as it left and shook his head. He swore that if Dean started wearing a _Kiss the Cook_ apron and joined the local yoga club then he would be able to give any mother a run for her money. Not that he would ever tell Dean that. Dean would have him in a headlock and cryin' uncle before he could finish the sentence.

Turning to face the entranceway, Sam paused as an overpowering wave of light and noise washed over him. Closing his eyes to briefly reorient himself, Sam pulled in a deep breath and joined the bustling crowds that were swarming every which direction. He could do this. It was just another normal day at school.

Running his hand lightly against the lockers to keep his balance, he felt his stomach turn over queasily.

_The meiosis stage has five main stages. The first, Prophase, is distinguished by…_

By the time Sam actually reached Biology, his fifth-period class, he was beginning to believe that Dean might have made a valid point. After only the first hour, his head had started to throb in earnest. By the third, his vision was blurry which was only followed by shaky legs and intense feelings of vertigo. But then again, Dean had also drilled it into him that Winchesters did not go down without a fight and Sam would be damned if he was going to start now.

Pushing open the door to room 213, Sam had to pause and lean against the doorjamb as the room turned twisted nauseatingly before he was able to make for his usual spot in the middle of the room. All but collapsing into the hard chair, Sam's hand drifted to his head, kneading at his forehead. It was quieter in here than in the hallways but the cackling laughter of the boys and the loud whispers from the girl weren't helping matters.

Threading his fingers through his hair, Sam pulled in several shuddering breaths. He could do this. He could pass this test…he had to pass this test.

The bell rang and Mr. Jenkins strode to the front of the room.

"Books away! Pencil's out! The fun is just about to begin," Mr. Jenkins informed in an all too happy voice. The class groaned as one and Sam felt his stomach flip flop.

His head gave a particularly nasty throb and he closed his eyes, blindly scrambling for his pencil. The rustling of paper reached his ears and moments later he felt Mr. Jenkins pass by and put the test on his desk. Squeezing his pencil tightly, Sam lifted his heavy head and opened his eyes, looking at the paper laid out before him.

The test was blurred and the black print was impossibly jumbled, letters piled one on top of the other.

Growling under his breath, Sam rubbed ferociously at his eyes, willing them to focus. Opening them, he bent his head and squinted until he was able to make out a few of the words. It was something about poison detoxification... Bending even closer, he searched the multiple-choice answers desperately for the Smooth ER.

Picking out the answer that started with an S, Sam reached out his shaking pencil to circle it. Only the pencil scratched over the rough surface of the desk rather than smooth paper. Growling in frustration, Sam refocused on the paper and once again made a move for answer D.

He was could feel cold sweat just starting to drip down his back and he had only completed the first question. _Don't think, just go, go, go! _He told himself even as his stomach twisted itself into knots.

Moving onto question two, Sam stared with horror at the paragraph-long question before simply moving onto three. It was only a sentence long, he could do that.

The sounds of flipping pages began to reverberate around the room and Sam wiped anxiously at his face. _F__ocus, _he directed himself sternly as he tried to circle letter A. _Just answer as many as you can…_

Sam was just turning the first page when a hand landed in the middle of his back, making him jump violently. Whirling around, Sam had to blink several times to focus on Mr. Jenkins' stern expression.

"Sam, are you alright?" The teacher's voice was just above a whisper but Sam felt the heat rising in his cheeks as embarrassment coursed through him. Surely he did not look as bad as he felt.

"I'm fine," he insisted just as softly.

"Really? Because you don't look very good. Do you need to go get a drink or some fresh air? Maybe you should go down to the nurse's office?"

Their low voices were drawing the attention of the other students and the rustling of paper and pencils came to a loll. Their stares burned at Sam's back and he flushed even more.

"Thanks, but I really am fine. I can finish the test," Sam whispered, clenching his pencil tightly. He would finish this test if it was the last thing he did.

"You can always finish taking it tomorrow or stay after school another day," Mr. Jenkins tried one last time but Sam shook his head. Dean would never let him come back, not after the condition that he was going home in, and then Dad would be back.

"I can do this," he repeated more to himself than too his teacher. Mr. Jenkins gave him a long look that Sam didn't have the energy or ability to decipher before standing and continuing to walk between the desks.

Swiping his sweaty bangs back, Sam left his hand there, willing to his head to stop pounding and let him concentrate.

He was almost done with the second page when Mr. Jenkins announced they had five minutes left and that they had better start wrapping it up.

Blinking back sudden tears, Sam clenched his jaw and forced his hand to circle B. The scratching of pencils had increased around him and he gave up on trying to read the question and began to circle answers at random. Maybe he had some chance of getting at least one more right, after all, there were studies that showed that even a monkey could-

"TIME!" Mr. Jenkins' voice rang out strong and clear somewhere near the back of the room. Soft sighs of relief and frustration swept through the room, followed by the clatter of pencils being dropped back onto desks. For better or for worse, the test was done.

Sam felt hollow inside as he dropped his pencil and hung his head in his hands. Even if he had gotten all the questions right, it would not make up for the unanswered short response ones. He had just dropped his grade by a full letter, he was sure of it, and it stung.

Blinking forcefully, he wiped a hand under his nose before swiping at his eyes.

There was the shuffle of feet and a smattering of conversation as his classmates began to stand, gathering their things and heading for their next classes. Sam simply sat there, the disappointment bitter as he cradled his head in his hands.

The bell rang and he knew that he needed to get to his feet, needed to leave and get to his next class period, but the drive that had carried him throughout the day was no longer there. All that work, the sleepless nights of homework and the inhuman effort of convincing Dean had all been for nothing.

It truly would have been better had he just stayed home.

Gripping the edges of his desk hard enough to turn his fingers white, Sam scooted to the edge of his seat and forced himself upright with a grunt. Straightening, Sam staggered back as the already tilting room whirled and his vision went grey. Vaguely, he was aware that his knees were buckling and he threw out a hand towards the nearest desk to catch himself. The desk began to tunnel in towards him, growing and shrinking as he tried to latch onto it. There was a loud crash and everything faded into darkness.

#

"Sam?" The voice calling his name was all wrong. It was soft when it should have been rough and the concern there was panicky, not controlled."Sam, can you hear me?" Prying his eyelids open, Sam bit back a groan as the artificial lights priced his already sensitive eyes like knives.

"Oh, thank goodness! Sam, do you know where you are?"

Sam turned his head and blinked rapidly until he was staring into the worried face of…Mr. Jenkins? Dragging his head around, he found himself staring into a crowd of googling teenagers. Some of the girls had their hands to their mouths, looking shocked, and a boy in the back was sniggering.

Embarrassment flooded Sam's system and he scrambled to get upright, using a turned over chair to assist. His body listed heavily to the side and Mr. Jenkins had to grab his arm to keep him in a sitting position.

"I don't think you should be moving around, just sit still…" he cautioned, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"S'rry," Sam grunted, his head thoroughly agreeing with the teacher. "I—I jus'…" he paused, trying to come up with a convincing lie as to why he had just passed out.

"Should we call 911?" Someone asked in a hushed whisper.

"No!" Sam struggled to pull away from Mr. Jenkins, refusing to make eye contact. Dean would kill him if he got a call from the school saying that he was being taken to the hospital. Not that Dean wasn't going to kill him anyway… Bowing his aching head into his hands, he threaded his hands into his hair. "No, I'm fine. I don't need to go to the ER."

Mr. Jenkins opened his mouth but a commotion at the door staled whatever he had been about to say.

"He's in here!" some girl called. Sam dug his hands in further in his hair, wishing that the ground would open up and just swallow him whole. The feet that he could see through his bangs shifted, pulling back to reveal a comfortable pair of sneakers. He lifted his head in surprise, he had half been expecting a pair of steel-toed boots.

The school nurse, Mrs. Robinson, knelt next to him and her large eyes rounded with concern. "What happened, honey?"

The final bell rang and Mr. Jenkins twisted. "Biology students to your next class, right now! Physic students, gather around my desk so that they can have some space."

The nurse reached out, laying the back of her hand against his skin to check for a fever.

"I just stood up too fast, I'm fine," Sam mumbled but Mr. Jenkins was shaking his head, crouching next to them once more.

"He's looked pale since the moment he stepped foot into class."

The nurse nodded, her eyes scanning Sam's face. "Well, first things first let's get you off of the floor. Do you think you can stand up, just for a moment?"

"_Yes_," Sam almost pleaded, grabbing the chair next to him in an attempt to leverage himself upright.

"Hey! There is no need to rush," Mrs. Robinson grabbed his arm with both of her small hands. "Woah, easy, there, honey," she ordered sharply, her arms slipping around his waist as Sam staggered into the row of desks. He reeled, his knees refusing to lock as everything spun around him. Suddenly, he found himself sitting at a desk, his head pressed firmly in-between his knees.

The excited chatter at the far corner of the room had gone deadly silent but Sam could feel the stares.

"I'm good. I can stand."

"In a moment, sweetheart," Mrs. Robinson kept steady pressure against the back of his neck. Sam sighed, squeezing his eyes shut until she finally allowed him to slowly lift his head. She smiled gently down at him.

"Is that better?" she asked quietly and Sam found himself nodding. Her smile brightened and she patted his arm.

"Mr. Jenkins needs his classroom back. Do you think you can walk if we take it nice and slow, Sam?" Her motherly smile made something inside of Sam ache and he nodded. The quicker he got out of here, the quicker he could call Dean who would come sweeping in like some sort of hero and take him away from this disaster of a day.

Both Mrs. Robinson and Mr. Jenkins grabbed one of Sam's arms, preparing to take most of his weight should he pass out again. Willing the dizziness away, Sam slowly eased himself upright and together they crossed to the door. Before they left, Mr. Jenkins pulled away long enough to shout directions for his physic class to open to page 295 and start reading, and then they began down the dingy hallway.

"My office isn't that far away," Mrs. Robinson said with some relief as they turned left down another equally long hallway.

"Good," Sam said through his teeth, sagging a little in their grip as his head pounded in rhythm of their steps. If he was a teacher and he had to give the headache a grade, it would have gotten at least 92.5% for pure effort alone.

They reached the door and Mr. Jenkins pushed it open to reveal a small and organized office space. A large cot was nestled into the corner and they helped him the last few feet. Easing himself down, Sam listlessly flopped back until his head was resting the thin pillow. Mr. Jenkins hovered awkwardly over him for a moment.

"I hope to see you in class again by Monday," he finally offered and Sam tried to smile, he really did. By Monday, this town would be nothing more than a memory for the Winchesters.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. Thanks for everything, Mr. Jenkins. Sorry about that test."

The teacher patted his shoulder and then left the office as quickly as he had come. In the far corner, the nurse settled herself down in front of the humming computer.

"When was the last time you had something to eat?" she asked over her shoulder. Sam shrugged.

"I dunno, but can I call my brother to come and get me?"

"Pulling up your file right now, honey. Winchester, right?" Mrs. Robinson glanced back at him and the clicking of the mouse drifted back to him. "307-555-2413?"

"No, no, that's my dad." Mrs. Robinson's eyebrows shot up in puzzlement and Sam was quick to explain, "My dad's on a business trip, but I can call my brother."

Mrs. Robinson glanced back at the computer, her eyes flicking back to Sam. "Dean?"

"Yea, he'll come and get me." Sam covered his eyes with his arm, breathing slowly through the pain. "He'll be here, I just need to call him."

A moment later the phone was pressed into his hand and he brought it up to his ear. It was already ringing and Sam waited, wrapping a finger loosely in the cord.

_C'mon, Dean! Pick up…_

He had just about given up hope when a gruff and uncertain "_Hello_," came over the line. Sam relaxed back into the cot, his breathing coming out in one long rush.

"Dean."

"_Sammy?" _Dean's voice lowered, instantly concerned. "_What's wrong? Wait, don't tell me. You just realized that your big brother was right, just like he always is, and that you are in fact an idiot." _The note of exasperation was clear in Dean's voice but Sam soaked it in. "_Do I need to come and get you?" _

Sam pulled in a shaky breath. "Yeah…"

"_How bad is it?"_ The sounds of rustling came over the phone and Sam thought he heard the jingle of car keys.

"I'm fine, I just need you to come and get me." Sam was well aware of the disapproving look Mrs. Robinson was giving him and rolled over gingerly.

"_Right, 'cause you've suddenly decided to not be a geek anymore and just skip school. Don't move, alright, I'll be there in twenty." _

Sam hesitantly gnawed at his lower lip. "Uh, Dean, you're going to have to sign me out of the nurse's office."

The silence over the phone was unnerving. They did not go to the school nurse. Most of the time they sucked it up in pure Winchester fashion until they could get home. Nurses asked uncomfortable questions about absent parents and where all the bumps and bruises came from.

"_Wow, Sam, she must be one hot nurse. I knew that you weren't all prude. I'll be there in ten, alright?"_ Dean growled at last, his voice dark, before there was a soft click and the phone began to beep into his ear.

"He'll be here soon," Sam announced, rolling back over and handing Mrs. Robinson the phone. She nodded, holding out a bottle of Gatorade in exchange.

"I want you to drink at least half of that. I think you might be dehydrated," she explained as she draped a blanket over his legs. "How about you try and get some sleep before your brother gets here? I'm going to ask him to take you straight to the doctor, so don't you worry. You'll be in tip-top shape soon enough."

Sam nodded absently, stopping abruptly as pain lanced through his head, but made no effort to correct her. It wasn't dehydration and Dean wouldn't be taking him to the doctor. No, instead he was stuck with the mothers of all concussions that had ambushed his only chance of getting out of this life. When Dad had called the other day he had made it quite clear that he was going to increase training when he got back. Sam needed to 'up his game', apparently.

Rolling over, Sam clenched the bottle tighter in his hands as he tried not to think about how much more difficult his life had just become. He would have time for nothing except hunting and homework. Sleeping would become a privilege, reading just for fun would be nonexistent and even eating would have to take a backseat to appease both Dad and school.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He would not cry. Crying was weak…

#

Dean was not thrilled to be back inside a high school. He had paid his dues and sworn not to step foot back inside of one, but…

Cursing Sam under his breath, Dean rounded the corner into a long hallway that looked exactly like all the other high schools that he had ever set foot in. According to the woman at the front desk, the nurse's office was just at the end and he picked up his pace. The quicker he collected Sam, the quicker they could get the hell out of dodge.

Then he was going to kill Sam for pulling this little stunt.

Without bothering to knock, Dean pushed the door open. An older woman looked up from a computer, surprised. Just past her on a cot lay Sam.

Dean's breath caught roughly in his chest and he blinked in surprise. Dean could have sworn that he'd seen ghosts with more color than his brother. Sweat was soaking through his shirt and he was trembling worse than a newborn colt. An ice pack was resting against the side of his head, presumably to help with the mother of all headaches.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean exclaimed, moving closer only to find the nurse blocking his path.

"You must be Dean," She smiled politely but Dean moved past her to crouch next to Sam, whose eyes were fluttering open.

"You okay? How bad's the pain?" he asked, lowering his voice as Sam flinched. He was loosely clutching an opened Gatorade and Dean wrestled it free before Sam could spill it everywhere. Snagging the blanket, he pulled it up to Sam's shoulders and let his hand rest there.

"Dean, I'm okay, really." Sam leaned into his touch, letting his eyes close again.

Dean snorted and turned back to face the nurse. "What happened?" he demanded.

The nurse sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and resting back against the wall. "I don't know for sure. However, I would advise you to take him straight to the ER or at the very least the urgent care. Passing out isn't generally something to be taken lightly."

Dean rounded back on his brother, his eyes growing wide. "You didn't tell me you fainted like some girl, Sam."

"Sorry."

Sam didn't sound sorry at all and Dean had the feeling that he would have left that little tidbit of information out if given a choice. Shaking his head, he turned back to the nurse who was pulling out the release forms for him to sign.

"He really should try and drink something with some salt in it, make him finish that Gatorade as you drive him to the ER," she prattled on. Dean finished signing his name with a flourish and gave a short nod to shut her up before turning back to Sam. His eyes were closed again, the pain lines etched clearly on his face.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, gripped Sam's forearm gently. "You ready to try being vertical so that we can blow this joint?"

Sam groaned under his breath. "Not really," he said even as his hand reached out, winding itself into Dean's leather jacket in preparation for standing.

"Yeah, well, tough luck." Dean wrapped his arm gently around Sam's shoulder, one hand lying flat on his chest. "We'll take it slow." Sam nodded once and Dean heaved him up into a sitting position. The ice pack slipped off Sam's face to land in his lap as his hands twisted tighter the leather. He swallowed thickly, his head bobbing down. Dean patted his chest lightly, giving him something else to focus on. "You're alright, dude, just take a deep breath."

Mrs. Robinson hovered over Dean's shoulder, her hands fluttering out to help before dropping to her side. "Do you need—"

"I've got him," Dean assured, tugging the blanket off Sam's legs and helping him to slide them over the edge of the bed. He shoved the ice pack into his pocket for later use and tugged Sam's arm over his shoulder. "C'mon. On your feet, Sasquatch."

Together, they stood up from the bed. Dean's firm grip tightening as Sam swayed, the little color he had left fleeing from his face. After several deep breathes, Sam slowly raised his head and gave Dean an apologetic look.

"Awesome, let's get out of here." Dean began to shuffle his younger brother towards the door. Sam's ragged backpack and equally old jacket were sitting by the nurse's desk and Dean paused. Still keeping a firm grip on Sam, he bent down and looped the jacket over his arm before snagging one of the straps on the backpack.

"Dude! Do you keep the whole library in here? This thing is freaking heavy." Dean shook his head in amazement, swinging it over his shoulder.

Sam's lips twitched upwards. "It's not. You've just gotten soft in your old age."

"You're lucky you're injured or I'd smack you for that," Dean growled playfully as he pulled the door open and ushered Sam out. He nodded their good-bye to the nurse and shifted the backpack further onto his shoulder.

He cast Sam a sideways glance, trying to gauge his overall condition. "Are you seeing double again? How bad is the pain?" he asked, looping his arm tighter around Sam as he stumbled.

"Just say you told me so," Sam muttered, looking pointedly away as his ears turned red.

Dean blinked in surprise. "Well, I did tell you this was going to happen," he chided, pulling Sam around a large trashcan. "Next time, just listen to me, Sammy. It'll save everybody—"

"I messed up, okay. Happy?" Sam snapped and Dean shook his head, letting the subject drop. The time and place for this conversation would be after he had Sam so high off of painkillers that he would not remember it later.

A blast of cold wind met them as they pushed through the front doors and Deans shrugged deeper into his leather jacket. Sam shivered hard, leaning into Dean and his warmth.

"You parked close to the entrance, right?" He asked as Dean guided him towards the short set of stairs that led down to the parking lot.

"Oh, I parked my baby in a prime spot. Nothing but the best for you, princess." Dean grinned cheekily, readjusting his grip on his brother as they came to a halt in front of the first step.

"Let me guess, the handicapped?"

"Well, you are a gimp currently. Now, just take these stairs slowly. The last thing we need is for you to take another spill."

Sam nodded distractedly, trying to figure out which blurred set of stairs he could actually trust. Dean stepped forward and Sam followed suit, his heart doing a little jump at the sudden sensation of stepping into nothing. Dean held onto him easily, keeping him going just like he always did. Just like he always would. Most people Dean's age would be out conquering the world, but no...Dean was stuck picking up a sick kid from school.

"I'm sorry, man," Sam suddenly said and he felt Dean twist to look at him as they took another step down.

"Oh, shut up. We can talk about this later."

No, I—" Sam misjudged his next step and the horrible sensation of free-falling made his stomach jump into his esophagus but Dean's arm was a tight band against his chest.

"Easy, easy...I'm not going to let you fall but maybe less talking and more focusing," Dean said, holding him steady until he found his feet.

"I just meant—"

"When did you get so freaking heavy? I swear you haven't eaten anything in a week…" Dean complained, effectively ended any chick-flick moment that was in danger of happening.

The Impala came into view, her shining black paint just barely reflecting the blue handicapped sign on her hood. Dean quickened his steps, pulling Sam along. Yanking the passenger door open, Dean eased him down onto the seat.

"Here," he offered, pulling the icepack back out of his pocket and placing it firmly against his brother's head as he guided Sam's hand up to hold it in place. Unfolding Sam's jacket from his arm, he tucked it causally around Sam's shoulders before dumping the backpack into the back seat.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. His stomach was rolling uncomfortable and he slowed his breathing, trying to calm it.

A moment later, the Impala rumbled into life and they were peeling out of the parking lot and back towards the motel. Sam rolled his head to the side, cracking an eye open to get a good look at Dean's face. "You're mad, aren't you?"

Dean looked over at him in surprise. "I'm not mad, Sammy. What the hell made you think I was mad?"

"Oh…" Sam swiftly shut his eyes as the car made a sharp turn and ever-present nausea reared its head. "But, I thought,"

"Your noggin has been cracked open, try not to think too hard," Dean said it with a smile but Sam only felt worse, somehow. He just wanted to crawl into bed and forget everything...

Dean glided the Impala around a slow-moving car, pressing his foot harder against the accelerator. "Hey." He reached over, slapping Sam's knee. "So, you want to tell me about this fainting thing?"

"I didn't faint."

"Ah, no. Don't pull that crap with me." Dean held up a finger, shaking it in Sam's face. "You fainted and I want to know why."

Sam puffed out his cheeks, blowing out the air in a rush. "Listen, I just stood up too quick during Biology." The words left a bitter taste in his mouth as he thought of the unfinished test. His stomach churned when Dean slammed on the breaks as the light turned yellow and the car in front of them slowed.

"We totally could have made that," Dean muttered under his breath, making a face at the red Honda. "So you stood up and it was lights out for Sammy? What happened before that? Had you been feeling dizzy?"

"Too many questions at once, Dean," Sam shrugged, peeling his jacket off and letting it slide limply to the floorboards. Sweat was building on his face and he suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. Sucking in a deep breath through his mouth, he clenched the ice pack harder against his face as his stomach rolled again. He was going to throw up…

"It was that stupid test, wasn't it? You overstressed your big old brain, didn't you? I'm telling you—"

"Dean, pull over." Sam sat up, his back rim-rod straight a hand going up to cover his mouth. Dean's eyes grew comically wide as he caught sight of Sam's rapidly paling face and he twisted the wheel, but there was nowhere to go. The light had yet to change and a blue Ford Focus next to them blocked them in.

"Don't you dare throw up in my baby!" Dean ordered, willing the light to change as he scoured the footwells for something, anything, that could be used to keep the Impala in supreme condition. Sam was sweating bullets now as he forced down a vicious gag. "I'm warning you, Sam! Don't you dare."

Dean threw the car into park, scrambling around in his seat to check the bench in the back. Spying the corner of a plastic grocery sack, he dived for it.

"Dean—!" it was the only warning he got before the sounds of retching filled the car.

"Damn it, Sam." Dean slapped the seat as he snagged the bag. A loud blast of a horn behind them indicated the changing of the light but Dean paid them no mind as he twisted back into his seat. Sam was bent over, his shoulder shaking as he heaved again. The vile smell of vomit was rapidly filling the small space inside of the car. "Damn it, dude, here."

Taking a moment to dump out the boxed pie, Dean thrust the bag into Sam's face. He felt Sam take the bag and then straightened and put the car into the drive. The car behind them leaned heavily on the horn and Dean glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, yeah, I'm moving." He scrunched up his nose as the wet sound of more vomiting filled his ears.

"Pull over," Sam demanded shakily once he finished pucking. Dean was already checking his mirrors as he flicked his blinker on.

"Working on it, buddy. Don't touch anything, alright, give me two seconds." Turning off the main road, he spied a small park not far down the street and flipped a U-turn to park alongside the curb. The park's slides were barren and the swings empty but Dean couldn't help but feel grateful for the small privacy this granted. Flinging open his door, he raced around it towards Sam's.

Wrenching it open, he let his eyes sweep over his brother as he swung his legs out of the car, still hunched over the bag. It wasn't a pretty sight. Flecks of vomit were smeared over Sam's face and shirt, speckling in his too-long hair and on his jeans. Taking a deep breath, Dean risked a glance inside the car.

He was relatively surprised to find almost all the puke was on _Sam_ rather than in the footwell or on the seat. Backing up a step, he once stood protectively in front of his brother. "You done or are you going to hurl some more?"

"No…maybe" Sam grunted, his face losing another shade of color and his voice trembling almost as bad as his hands "Sorry—tried not to get it in the car." He froze, before sticking his head back into the bag.

"You did good, buddy. By the way I found the pie, which I clearly did not forget, and for which you should be singing my praises. Otherwise, you would have been cleaning the car for the next month," he teased lightly. Sam didn't react, his body quivering. "Just get it out, you'll feel better." Dean began to rub small circles into Sam's upper back, humming distractedly. He could feel Sam's back shuddering with each heaving breath he took, but nothing else appeared to be coming up.

After several long minutes, Dean poked his head around to look closer at Sam, one hand brushing his long hair back and away from his face. "Wha' ya say we risk tossin' the bag and get you cleaned up, huh? You'll probably feel better once your head isn't stuck in a puke filled bag anyway."

Sam gripped the bag tighter, making a non-committal noise

"You're not going to throw up again, kiddo. Let me just…" Dean tapped Sam's hand and Sam hesitantly allowed Dean to take the plastic sack from him. When he tossed it over into the dead grass, he was half surprised that Sam made no protest against the littering. His brother simply bowed his head with his puke smeared and shaking hands outstretched in front of him.

"Hold on, we'll fix this and get you back to the motel where you can lay down," Dean hurried to comfort, his voice light and soft. Moving back to the trunk, he dug around for their green cooler. Shoving past the beers, he pulled out a couple of bottles of water. An old rag from some motel long past was lying just past the cooler and Dean snatched it up as well.

Rounding the car once more, he found Sam watching him, misery and embarrassment written across his face. "Dean, I'm not six anymore. I can clean myself up."

"Yeah, I know. Let me see you," Dean crouched down in front of him, unscrewing the lids and flicking them off to land next to the plastic sack. Sam dropped his head once more as Dean's scanned him, clearly trying to figure out how best to tackle the situation.

"Shirts off," he finally ordered. Sam heaved a tired sigh as he wiped his hands off on his already dirty shirt and began to peel his first layer away. Dean took it from him, tossing it onto the sidewalk as Sam wrestled his T-shirt off, which Dean balled up to join the flannel.

"Remind me to grab those before we leave," he commented lightly. While they weren't lacking for clothing, they weren't rolling it in them either, especially since Sam had begun to grow.

Sam shrunk further back into the Impala, his eyes flickering to the houses lining the other side of the street self consciously. His head was hurting worse than ever and he just wanted this crappy day to be over.

"Dean, I'm really, really, sorry. You shouldn't have to be cleaning up after me, I—"

"Oh, shut up, Sam. Hold out your hands." Holding up the water bottle, Dean motioned impatiently for Sam to extend his hands. Splashing water liberally across them, he watched as Sam rubbed them clean of chunks of vomit, noting that they were still shaking visibly.

"You gonna hurl again?" he asked lightly.

Sam shook his head, his breath hitching. Dean frowned, sprinkling some more water over Sam's hands.

"What's up then?"

Sam scoffed, his head hanging lower. "Today just sucked," he whispered, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

"That generally happens when you don't listen to those wiser and older than you," he tried, nudging Sam's knee in an attempt to get him to look up. Sam only pulled his now clean hands back, wrapping his arms around his middle. "Here," dousing the washcloth with water, Dean motioned for Sam to take it. Sam sniffed once, still looking anywhere but at Dean, before accepting it and wiping at his face and arms.

Dean's mind whirled as he tried to figure out the different emotions his brother was exhibiting before it clicked. "You want to tell me how that big test went today?" he asked hesitantly, crouching down next to his brother so that he could look past his bangs. Sam ducked his head further, suddenly very intent on his task. Dean heaved a sigh and reached up, squeezing the nape of Sam's neck.

"It's just one test, Sam. It'll be okay." When Sam still refused to look at him, Dean's fingers caught underneath his chin and tilted his head up. Dean's eyes bored into his, their intense warmth comforting and familiar.

"Give me that, you are doing a terrible job." Plucking the cloth from limp fingers, Dean began to dab at Sam's mouth, pretending not to notice how red his brother's eyes were. "Now, what happened besides the test to make things so crappy?"

Sam was silent as Dean angled his face towards the pale sunlight. "It just…" he finally began. "It's just that—oh, I don't know."

"Yeah, you do and you'd better spit it out because I can't do this touchy-feely thing much longer," Dean grumbled, his hands gentle as ever as they swiped at Sam's face.

It was all too much. To be sitting here, covered in vomit, while his brother cleaned him like a baby and after all that had already happened in the past week… Suppressing a sudden sob, Sam blinked ferociously up at the sun. Nothing was ever going to change, for him or for Dean. They were both bound by duties that they had never asked for.

"I'm just tired," he finally managed, between the harsh breaths that were now racking his body in a desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay. "And today just…"

"Sucked?" Dean supplied. Sam nodded jerkily as Dean stepped back, tossing the washcloth to join the pile of clothing. "Yeah, well, we all have sucky days sometimes. Crap happens. But right now everything seems worse than it really is, dude. You need sleep and drugs, maybe then you will back to your happy, broody, self." he cracked a grin, ruffling Sam's hair. "So don't worry about the test results right now, we'll worry about them later. Same goes for whatever Dad cooks up, alright?"

Sam continued to blink hard, drawing in shaky breaths until he finally felt it safe to speak. "Yeah, okay," he agreed in a husky voice.

"Good." Dean smiled, clasping Sam's shoulder firmly before moving to gather up the clothes and dumping them into the trunk and returning to Sam's side.

He was shivering in the cold air, his eyes red and face still ashen.

Shrugging out of his own jacket, Dean tossed it to Sam. "Here, cover up those skinny ribs of yours and get your ass in the car. If anyone sees you out here with nothing on, I'm likely to get arrested for child abuse."

Sam sniffed wetly, sliding his arms into the sleeves. Though Sam had shot up recently, the coat was still too big and he wrapped it tightly around his body, huddling into the comfort that it provided.

The car still smelled of vomit and Dean made a face as he slammed his door. Sam swung back into the seat, laying his aching head against the window. Dean bent down, picking up the ice pack from where it had fallen earlier, passing it back to Sam.

Pulling away from the curb, Dean glanced over at his brother. "Oh, and dude, if you throw up on both my _jacket_ and my _car_…" he paused, unsure of a threat strong enough to equal the damage that would cause and simply shook his head. "It will be painful."

"You're such a jerk."

"Don't throw up and you won't have anything to worry about, bitch."

THE END

**Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to offer any corrections or ideas. Basically, I would just love to hear what you thought. :) **


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